


your second favorite sweater

by Murf1307



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Halloween, M/M, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1331104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac tells everyone to dress as one of their favorite things for his party this year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your second favorite sweater

**Author's Note:**

> written for [this](http://noblehector.co.vu/post/63199266211/for-my-friends-birthday-party-last-summer-we) on october 6, 2013.

It’s Grantaire’s second favorite sweater, and he’d thought he’d left it at the bar  _weeks_  ago.

But there it is, and  _Enjolras is wearing it._

It’s baggy on his lean, wiry frame, and he’s acting like it’s not a big deal as he crosses through the living room to get to the kitchen, where Cosette is mixing drinks (as it turns out, out of all of them, she’s the undisputed queen).  She looks at him dubiously.

Everyone else is looking at Grantaire, trying to gauge his reaction.  Grantaire is trying to process what he’s seeing — he can’t even react yet.

Enjolras.  is wearing.  Grantaire’s sweater.  This is happening.

Enjolras doesn’t look at him, but he’s wearing his sweater and holding what looks like a fucking  _Shirley Temple_  while he and Cosette stare each other down.  Grantaire watches, completely at a loss.

No one says anything, but there’s a tension so thick in the air that you could cut it with a knife.  Grantaire stands frozen where he’d been when Enjolras walked in.

Finally, he shakes himself and sits down on the couch, because he needs to calm down and think this through.

Enjolras is wearing Grantaire’s sweater.  Courfeyrac had asked people to come dressed as their favorite things for this Halloween party.  And Enjolras is wearing Grantaire’s second-favorite sweater.

How did Enjolras even  _get_  Grantaire’s second-favorite sweater in the first place, anyway?

Grantaire inhales quietly.  Enjolras is wearing his sweater which means —

He can’t even think the words out explicitly.  He knows what that means, but he’s too scared to even think it outright.

So he stares into the middle distance and tries not freak out.

A few minutes later, people have stopped staring and have started doing whatever they were doing before.

Then, Enjolras crosses back into the living room.  A few moments later, he’s standing next to Grantaire, shifting uncomfortably, fidgeting with the sleeves.  ”Grantaire?” he asks quietly.

"Yeah?" Grantaire manages, not quite looking at him.

"Was it…was it bad of me to have worn this?"  Enjolras sounds nervous now, and Grantaire has  _never_  heard Enjolras sound like this.

He looks up to find Enjolras biting his lip and looking as nervous as he’d sounded.  

Grantaire doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything.

"I mean, I can take it off if you don’t like it," Enjolras goes on, fidgeting more.  "But Courf said we should dress like our favorite thing and —"

He breaks off, and he’s  _blushing._   It’s not a trick of the light, or anything like that — Enjolras’s nose and cheeks are dusted with a quickly-darkening pink.  Grantaire can’t breathe, because he has  _no idea what’s going on._

"You — you’re wearing my sweater."

"Um.  Yes.  That was kind of the point."

Grantaire’s jaw drops a little.  ”So…”  He gestures weakly with one hand.  ”I’m?”

"My favorite," Enjolras clarifies, dropping his eyes to stare at his shoes.  "You’re my favorite."  His hands are gripping the ends of his sleeves, his elbows locked straight and his arms tight to his sides.

"No way —" Grantaire shakes his head ands  _stares_ , because none of this makes sense.  ”No.  You’re bullshitting me.”

Enjolras flinches, slumps a little.  ”I’m not.”

"There is no way I’m your favorite."  Grantaire clutches at this.  "I mean, out of everyone we know, I’m pretty sure you like Combeferre the most, and I can name like seven historical figures who  _have_  to rank higher than me —”

"Shut up!" Enjolras says, and he sounds — he sounds  _anguished._   ”Just — just — I’ll take it off, okay, I’ll —”  His voice cracks.

His voice cracks, and he pulls the sweater off over his head and drops it on the couch next to Grantaire before he storms across the room and out the door, out of the party completely.

Grantaire stares after him, wide-eyed.  

"What the fuck just happened."

"I could ask you the same," Joly says quietly.  "Considering he essentially walked in with an ‘I Really Like Grantaire’ neon sign plastered across his chest."  He crosses his arms.  "Why are you still here?"

Grantaire slumps.  ”I’m sure it’s not like that — it can’t be, it’s not —”

"I knew he was going to do it," Marius says from the kitchen.  "He was telling Courf he wanted to do it."

"I concur with Joly," Combeferre says.  "Go after him."

Grantaire stands up, wobbling a little in his daze.  ”You all really think he — that he means it like, like  _that?_ ”

Everyone looks at him in unison, and every single expression screams  _Are you fucking kidding me, Grantaire?  Of course he means it._

So he nods, swallows, and heads for the door.  He takes the sweater with him.

Enjolras is sitting on the roof of the apartment building.  Grantaire’d known he’d be there — it’s Enjolras’s favorite spot, the roof of this building — but he still approaches with extreme caution, because Enjolras is slumped against the latticework holding up the watertower, body language like his world has ended.

"Enjolras?" Grantaire ventures, hands clenched tight in the sweater.

Enjolras turns, spins to his feet, fear in his eyes.  ”Wh-what?”

"You — you didn’t have to take my sweater off," Grantaire mumbles, pushing the sweater at Enjolras’s chest.  "I just — I’m…I don’t understand?"

"You don’t — oh.  Oh."  Enjolras takes a step closer, hands curling in the sweater as well, but almost absently.  "I — I thought I was being clear, but, um, I — would you — would you mind much if I asked you out?  On a date?"

Grantaire is dumbstruck, and he stares at Enjolras, searching for some kind of catch as his brain screams that there is  _no way this is real_.

"Is this actually happening?" he asks, then bites his lip and looks away.

"It is.  I — I’ve been wanting to ask for a while now, I just wasn’t sure how.  This seemed, up, this seemed like a good idea."  Enjolras sighs.  "But I messed up."

"No — no, it’s, it’s okay," Grantaire says, eyes snapping to Enjolras’s face again.  "I — this is all me being me, you know how I am."

Enjolras nods.  ”So, um.  Will you go out with me, sometime?”

Grantaire lets out a shaky breath.  ”Yeah.  Yeah, I’d — I’d love to.”

"Oh, oh," Enjolras says softly, smiling.  He drops his eyes to the sweater.  "Th-thank you."

He sounds like Grantaire just made his week.  Grantaire is still not totally convinced this is real.

"You’re — you looked really nice in the sweater," he manages.

Enjolras laughs, caught off guard, and he presses the sweater closer to his chest.  Grantaire finally drops his hands away from it.  ”Can I — can I keep it, then?”

"Yeah," Grantaire says breathlessly.  "Definitely."

Enjolras’s smile could probably light up the whole city.  Grantaire thinks,  _oh.  I did that._

"Can I — is it okay if I — I really want to kiss you," he says, looking at everything on the roof except Enjolras.

He’s not expecting Enjolras to fling his arms around his neck, the sweater getting squashed between them as Enjolras pulls him close.  It’s a heady sensation, and Grantaire hardly even has time to process it before Enjolras’s lips are on his.

It’s not a Hallelujah-chorus-type kiss, objectively speaking, but it’s  _Enjolras,_  and Grantaire nearly melts on the spot.


End file.
